


come back home

by longituddeonda



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Heavy Angst, Panic Attacks, Self-Insert, light gaslighting, literally everyone needs a hug, there's also a lot of time jumping and flashbacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:42:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22316503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/longituddeonda/pseuds/longituddeonda
Summary: it’s been three years since you’ve seen din after leaving him on a distant planet
Relationships: The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/You
Comments: 10
Kudos: 101





	come back home

**Author's Note:**

> so this pops around a lot with timing, but it should be fairly clear. every horizontal line break switches perspectives between din and the reader, and every section is a bit of present and then a flashback. good news if this sounds complicated: at least the flashbacks are chronological.

It was a busy day. People had been wandering in and out of your shop since you turned the sign in the window to ‘Open.’ There probably hasn’t been a span of more than 5 minutes where you didn’t hear the sound of the doorbell tinkling, signaling the entrance of one or more of the planet’s upper echelon, art students, or just interested visitors. Running an art gallery and dealership was possibly one of the most peaceful things you could do during this age of the New Republic. Especially when you lived on a Core World. 

An old looking Neimoidian who had been wandering the space for the past hour or so approached your desk.

“That piece there, with the scene from the Clone Wars, how much is it?”

You looked over to where he was pointing. It was one of the larger pieces you had at the time, a beautiful war painting. Realism wasn’t as common anymore. Neither, you supposed, was painting. You got the piece directly from the artist a few months back, entranced by the historic materials and the mastery of the battle scene. It reminded you of your teenage years, back during the war. It was sad to see it go, but you knew you couldn’t keep the pieces and were happy it would have a home. 

“Thirteen thousand credits,” You smiled at the man. For the Neimoidians who came and went, your reputation, and the size of the piece, it was a good price. He knew it too. His subtle nod indicated he was interested, and you put the order into your system. One of the gallery droids sprung to life behind you to retrieve the piece from its spot on the wall and bring it to the back room where it would be packaged for shipment. You pulled out a datapad, handing it over to the Neimoidian who began to fill out the credit transfer form. 

“Your reputation precedes you,” He mused while typing, “You run a lovely shop here. It’s nice, with the Empire over. Peace, art, business. It’s all flourishing.”

“It is,” You smiled, “it’s great for business.” 

“Indeed it is,” He looked up, handing back the datapad with the complete form, “I must thank you, it is a great honor to work with you.”

“The honor is all mine,” you say, reviewing the form. 13,000 New Republic credits. Not good for much outside the Core nowadays, not that you had any plans on leaving.

“I collect war art,” he began, an unusual admission for a Neimoidian, “Honoring those who fought. I just imagine... must be difficult, out there on the battlefield.”

-o-o-o-

“It must be difficult...” the Mandalorian said, startling you from your thoughts. In the 17 hours since you met him, he hadn’t said more than 20 words. “... living job to job, no help.”

You turned to face him, or rather, to look at the small gap in his helmet. 

“What do you mean? Isn’t it the same for you?” You got the current job together from some guy in a bar in the backwater outer rim planet you were spending the day on. He said it would be too difficult, too risky to just have one man on the job. Two was insurance.

“I’m a guild member. Who do you have?” You knew he was just trying to make small talk, but it felt like a slap on the face. You had practically nothing. You’d been wandering the galaxy ever since the fall of the empire, nothing to do. Your only skills were fighting, flying, and formulating battle plans. Without a war, you had nothing. 

_ Probably should have joined the guild at some point _ , you thought to yourself. But that never felt like the right option. You still had your loyalties. And bounty hunters, well, bounty hunters have no loyalties other than the guild. Imperial heads and Rebel ones had the same price if you had the right buyer. 

“It’s been this way for a while now, I don’t mind it so much,” you responded. You had only just met the Mandalorian anyways, hadn’t known him long enough where he deserved to know really how you felt. It was still difficult, not spilling out your entire backstory to him, something about the way he cocked his head and the few words he said that let you know he was always intensely listening to you. 

You had the feeling that after another 17 hours he would have only racked up another 40 words while you’d have revealed almost every detail of your life. He had that effect on you. Kind of scary if you were to admit it, but you knew in only an hour or so the Razor Crest would be landing and the fight would start and hopefully end in only a matter of minutes and you’d return to the money and go your separate ways. No need to fret over some guy. Even if that guy was a Mandalorian. 

* * *

Din Djarin had landed the Razor Crest about a 50-minute walk from the city, enough to remember that it had been a year or so since he spent any time traversing tough terrain and began to regret not docking closer. 

It was a force of habit. The ship wasn’t registered so it flew under the radar, but any attempt to land at a New Republic port would be dangerous, but he supposed that landing 20 minutes away wouldn’t have been so bad. It didn’t really matter now though, as he was coming up to the first signs of civilization.

He only had a faint idea of where he was headed, somewhere closer to the center, but not too close. With his luck, probably the side of the city furthest from his ship so he’d have to cross through the center if he wanted the quickest route.

The most efficient route used to not matter so much. He used to be able to afford to skirt around the edges. Now, nearing the heart of the city, he was tired enough to know he needed to stop. He’d been walking for over 3 hours. 

It was unusual, being on such a populated planet. Everyone moved around him, not sparing him even a glance. He wasn’t used to that at all. 

Din saw a small but interesting looking cantina a few doors down and slipped inside. It was filled with smoke and music and laughter. Nothing like the empty-feeling outer rim bars. The people here had all sorts of masks, just not the physical kinds: fake smiles plastered on to fool a lover, guises of aggression formulated purely to intimidate, the facades of disappointment dealt expertly to tug at heartstrings. There was something completely and utterly alive in this place, but that something was also a farce. 

A barstool opened up about two-thirds of the way to the back wall, and Din pushed through the crowd to snatch it up. A sleek looking droid slid his way to take his order before gliding back down the bar to help a young couple pay for their drinks. 

Another droid showed up in front of him, setting down the hot drink, with a yellow and red swirling appearance, steam rising off the top. 

He raised the glass to his mouth, and took a sip, relishing in the feel the alcohol had, instantly spreading through his body, soothing while simultaneously lighting him on fire.

-x-x-x-

_ Fucking desert planets _ , Din thought to himself. Somewhere in the galaxy, someone was probably laughing at him: a Mandalorian in the desert. Thick black wool covered with beskar armor had to be the absolute worst combination for a planet made of sand and heat. He had been sitting behind a rock formation for the better part of the day, the local star’s hot light beating down on his body. 

The camp was small but Din knew there were at least twelve stormtroopers and two Imperial high-ups. There could be more. He had been watching the four tents all day, and each one could probably hold around 15 people quite comfortably, but his infrared sensors weren’t working well, probably sand lodged in some panel, and he couldn’t figure out how many people he was up against. 

The binoculars on his helmet zeroed in on a figure behind the furthest tent. Someone was out there, moving quickly between a couple of rocks. At the same time, one of the tent flaps opened, and a couple of stormtroopers popped out. Din had to break his gaze from the mysterious person and watched the two walk from one tent to the next. He was fairly sure they weren’t new, only the same guys who walked in 30 minutes ago. 

Upon arrival at the next tent, one ducked in while the other stood guard. A few seconds passed and then the white helmet peaked out of the tent again, this time followed by another 3, and an Imperial officer. The five troopers flanked the man as he returned to the tent the troopers originally came from.

“What are you doing here?” a voice sounded from his left. Din whipped around while pulling his Amban rifle from his back, pointing at where the voice came from. 

It was the fighter from the job back off of Comra. She had leaned back enough to keep her head from being lopped off by the rifle and her hands were up.

“Sorry, Mando, didn’t mean to scare you,” she said, her voice slow and vibrating in her throat. 

Din lowered the Amban, and peaked back at the imp tents. There was no activity occurring anymore. 

“But seriously, what are you doing here?” she sounded a bit frustrated. Her face was reddening, but he couldn’t tell if it was just the heat. She was slick with sweat, shining in the sunlight. He figured if he had any skin exposed it would look the same. He was sweltering, but couldn’t tell if wearing anything lighter would have helped. His skin hadn’t seen the light in a long time, and a smarter outfit for the heat might just be his downfall. 

Din reached into his pocket, pulling out the puck he was working on. He turned it over a few times in his palm before turning it on and holding out the holo to show the woman. The blue bust spun around and her eyes widened. 

“It’s him,” she breathed. After a long moment, she broke her gaze from Din’s assignment and looked right at him, “you’re going after him?”

“Yes, if you don’t ruin my chance. He’s in there,” Din gestured over to the tents. 

“I know. He’s got a bounty of his own on my head,” the admission took Din by surprise, and he realized that the woman was bowing her head; in shame, frustration, or something entirely different, he couldn’t tell. 

“Then why aren’t you running?” he knew it sounded too harsh, but sometimes, rarely, but sometimes, his emotions got ahead of him and he had to ask the burning questions. 

“I was. That’s why I’m here,” she said, panting a bit. Where they stood was in direct sunlight, and it was only getting hotter. “I was running from him, planet-hopping, was here for about a week, and the fucker showed up this morning, set up camp less than a kilometer from where I was. I thought I was done for. I was trying to get a good last look at him before I either made it out or was killed, but then I saw you behind the rocks. Figured if I was destined to die, then, well, you were probably here to kill me anyway.”

Din cocked his head, “I’d never take a job from an imp.”

“Well, that’s good,” she said. She attempted to laugh, but the heat was too much and the topic too heavy that it came out more like a couple of shallow breaths before stopping entirely.

The two turned to look at the camp again. Nothing was happening. Din didn’t have too much of a plan until he knew how many stormtroopers he was up against. 

“I, uh, I fought for the Rebel Alliance, way back when,” the woman said, still staring at the tents, “I wasn’t even 14 when I joined. When the New Republic formed there wasn’t much left for me. I knew war, and I wanted the imps all gone. I’ve sort of been on the run since, taking out stormtroopers and officers whenever I get the chance. I suppose it all caught up to me.”

“14 is pretty young for a fighter,” Din said, not sure what else to say. He wasn’t used to people being open with him.

“Not where I’m from, it’s not,” and when Din looked over to see her finish the sentence he saw something in her eyes that shook him to the core. Some sort of raw pain and loss and desperation. He was going to kill the commander, and take down anyone else in the damned tent.

* * *

An hour and ten minutes before closing you began pre-close procedures, as usual. The shop was mostly empty, save for a couple of Bothans who appeared to be making some final decisions on what pieces to purchase, and a few young faces you had learned belonged to the students who would pop in weekly to see the art, never buying anything. You didn’t mind. Art was meant to be appreciated. 

You had made quite a few sales and were satisfied with the day’s profit. Someone bought out almost your entire collection of small prints by a Corellian artist, and you were pleased to have sold the rather violent series of holosculptures, and you already had the droids put a more calming piece in their spot. 

A droid began going around sweeping the space, and another was sent to the supply room to start restocking packaging materials that had been used up during the day. 

You kept your eyes firmly on the door, feeling like the current inhabitants were fairly safe, no need to worry about any of them harming the art. Or yourself.

This morning, you woke up and turned on the television just in time to see the news reporting on the threats: some unidentified group with a vendetta against anyone who fought for the rebellion. You supposed living on a Core planet, where the New Republic held plenty of power, you should be safe, but that didn’t stop you from wearing your most battle-ready outfit that could still appear formal enough for your store. 

The Bothans’ discussion seemed to quiet down when the bell rang again and a tall looking man walked in, dressed in tactical pants and wearing a jacket that could hide any number of weapons. You reached down beneath your desk, hand grasping for the blaster you kept there. You didn’t like the look of the guy.

“I was told this was the place to go if I needed some advice,” the man walked directly towards you, and you inhaled quickly.

“What sort of advice?” you asked.

“My daughter, she likes art, I don’t know what to get for her. She’s getting married next month.”

You dropped your blaster and let your shoulders fall a bit. 

“Well, I can certainly help you with that.”

-o-o-o-

Your blaster was pointed directly at the head of one of the guys, finger on the trigger, rage in your eyes. It took less than a quarter of a second to squeeze your hand and the target’s body went limp.

_ Thwump _ .

It felt a bit like you had been kicked in the stomach, and whatever it was had you flying through the air for a moment, and sometime during that instant, suspended midair, you felt a brief stinging sensation spread across your lower leg. Then you hit the ground. 

Lying there, you watched the blaster fire zoom over you. You couldn’t really feel your leg anymore, so you supposed that was better than feeling whatever had happened. 

Your stomach was sore, so was your back. Really, everything hurt. Your vision was a bit foggy around the edges, so you stared up at one of the moons, however faint it appeared in the daylight. 

It was admittedly very dumb to accept this sort of job. You had to hand it to Mando, picking out the stupidest shit to get involved in to pay for gas money. The two of you were supposed to be on the run, caring for the Child, staying out of trouble. Not getting shot while being paid to fight for some local clan dispute. There were probably thirty or so fighting. And you two. 

You weren’t really sure how much time had passed with you on the ground. All you knew was that wherever you were hit on the stomach hurt more than almost anything you’d ever experienced. The hand clenched over the wound felt slick with what could have been blood, but was maybe just sweat. At some point, the sound of the fighting died down, and the dust began to settle. 

A shadow fell over your face as the sunlight was blocked, and you blinked a few times to adjust to the darkness. It was Mando, kneeling next to you. 

“I’m fine,” you croak out, knowing fully that it was a lie. Mando probably knew that too, because he pulled your arm off of your stomach. It didn’t take much effort, you didn’t have the energy to protest.

His gloved hands grazed over the wound, gently, and you thought you heard a sound through his modulator that could have been him sucking in his breath. If it had been highly distorted.

“You need to protect yourself more,” he said, roughly.

“I was!” you protested. He was using the same tactic you had used on many others on the battlefield before: outrage the victim so they stay awake long enough to get help. You needed to remind yourself to thank him when you were back on the ship. 

Mando’s helmet moved to indicating that he was surveying you for further damage. His gaze stopped at your leg. You know what he’d found. You had begun to suspect it. Blaster fire might not appear too deep, but if set to kill it had a nasty burn that singed off all nerve endings, so you couldn’t even feel the wound as the impact took root deep under the skin.

Suddenly, cool air flooded underneath you and you realized the Mandalorian had scooped you up, cradling you in his arms. He was clearly very strong, but you hadn’t realized how warm he’d feel, even with all the armor on. 

* * *

Din set down the now empty glass and placed the money next to it. He signaled to the droid that he was done and stood up. Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward, moving through the growing crowd. Big bars and busy planets made him feel much more vulnerable than he was used to, and while the stop was necessary, it was definitely time to leave. 

_ Why the hell did I come here _ , Din found himself wondering as he felt his panic rising. His step quickened and he became frantic to get out of the establishment. 

There were too many people. Too many colors. The sounds were everywhere, people laughing, people talking, someone was singing. He heard the tapping of someone’s fingers on the bar table and the beeping of some sort of device. The live band seemed to be getting louder. Din spun around, no longer sure of where the exit was. His eyes widened and he looked around for some sign of fresh air. He felt like he was suffocating. 

Someone walked right in front of him, breathing hot air onto his face. Din gasped, turning, desperate for escape. He was inhaling smoke and alcohol fumes and the stench of sweat and the collision of food from too many different planets. He pushed by whoever was in front of him, and then another, and another. A chorus of protests occurred as he parted the crowd but the division just closed behind him, their faces forgetting him the moment he disappeared. 

The light from outside was finally in sight. Din thought he saw a way out but a second later it closed up again. He paused for a moment, trying to breathe as deeply as possible, and out of the corner of his eye he saw it. His reflection. 

Din pivoted on his heels to face the mirror. And there he was, face ragged, hair unkempt, facial hair untamed, and above all, it was out there, for anyone to see. 

And Din couldn’t help but realize how unappealing he looked. There was safety in keeping his face covered, safety that no longer existed. He didn’t want people to see how he looked. He wasn’t used to the way people judged. The way people look at his face and make assumptions, or worse, read him like a book. 

Din’s reflection blinked back at him in unfiltered vulnerability, but his stare was broken as someone else pushed into him, and another walked in front of the mirror. 

-x-x-x-

Somewhere in the lower deck the sound of clattering metal rang out along with a stream of expletives, followed by a very prompt, “It’s all good, I’m fine! Everything’s fine!”

Din chuckled to himself, staring off into the emptiness of the Unknown Regions. Thousands of millions of stars without habitable planets. Or with habitable ones, if only the New Republic could touch them. 

After visiting every planet in the known galaxy, they hadn’t found a single other creature like the Child. Din looked over at the kid, and it looked back at him, cooing happily. Needing to find its home planet was the only priority, thus the entrance into the Unknown Regions, the lesser explored half of the galaxy. 

Din realized he might be the first person looking at some of these stars from this angle, from this distance. The Razor Crest was likely the first ship to pass anywhere near where it was right now. 

It was incredibly beautiful. 

“Mando!” she called from below, “Food’s ready! You better come down here and eat or I’m gonna rip your helmet off and force feed you.”

“Don’t worry,” Din called back. She had the right to be worried. A few months back she discovered that he wasn’t eating to save rations. They didn’t know how long they’d be out here, didn’t know how long they’d need to make the food last. As soon as she found out, though, running out of food was the least of his worries. She took over all food prep and made sure every day all three of them were eating. 

A couple weeks ago they ran across a small habited planet, one of the few ones littering this part of the galaxy, and were able to restock. Even with enough food to last another 6 months in space, Din knew she still worried. 

It was nice to have someone who worried about him, not that he would admit that to anyone. 

Her head popped into the cockpit, two plates balanced on one hand as she finished scaling the ladder with her other. 

“Your plate’s below,” she smiled at him. She said the same thing every day. And she smiled every day, like nothing was wrong or weird about their situation. 

Din watched as she set down one plate on the dashboard and knelt with the other in front of the Child and began feeding it. He could tell she had really grown to love the kid. It was sweet to see the two; the kid adored seeing her face, and she was so good at getting it to listen to her. 

Din took one last look before jumping down into the lower deck. This was the usual ritual. He would listen to the soft words and sounds exchanged above as he took off his helmet below and began to eat. She knew not to come down until he said so. Din trusted her. 

He raised his hands to the sides of his helmet, gently pulled it off, and relished in the feel of the recycled air against his face. 

Din loved the feeling without the helmet, but the moments when he got to remove it were rare. Beyond showers, there wasn’t really any time to do it. They slept in too close of quarters to risk taking it off while asleep. The only constant was mealtime. 

With a heavy clink the helmet was sitting on the bench next to him, and Din grabbed the plate of food. He ate in silence, as always, listening to the chatter and giggles coming from the cockpit. 

Usually this was a pause to eat something, not think too much, and just rest, before getting back to business. What business was when they were floating around aimlessly through unexplored space with no idea where their destination was in the galaxy, Din couldn’t say. But there always seemed to be business. 

However, today, when he set down his helmet, it was turned to face him as he ate, and it felt like it was staring right back at him. It was rather menacing. Emotionless. Din felt a chill down his spine as he realized that that was all that anyone knew him by. That was all she saw. Perhaps there was some life in it when a head was inside, but still, that was the face she spent all day staring at. 

Din missed being around the other Mandalorians. Seeing all the other masks made it feel like he was a bit more human. Knowing there were other humans doing the same thing. He supposed, though, that the need for a status quo was what made him human. 

And, for the first time in years, Din had the urge to climb up to the ladder, helmet left behind, and look at her face to face, take off his gloves, and hold her hand, hold the Child, just touch things with his own skin. 

He shook his head as if to try to clear the thought. It scared him, how easily he could break his Creed when left in isolation. He spooned the last bite of the meal into his mouth, and, as quickly as possible, placed the helmet back on his head.

* * *

Usually around this time, about 30 minutes before the store closes, the last customer is wandering the rooms, about ready to buy something or leave. Sometimes there’s a final straggler to the end. Maybe, on a holiday, there’s a steady stream and you have to kick people out at closing, but a day like today? A normal day, the middle of the week, nothing special happening? The constant flow of customers was certainly unusual.

It was good for business, and it was nice to talk to the many scholars who had stopped through today, but you were ready to take down the ‘Open’ sign and replace it with the lovely ‘Closed’ one that meant you got to go home. 

You desperately wanted to be alone for a bit. You had once gotten completely stir crazy and that want for people led you to this planet. Sometimes you wished you had chosen some Mid Rim planet, but usually that thought was stamped out as you remembered how your stability of life decreased as you furthered from the Core Worlds. 

Further out generally meant less New Republic protection, and more potential Imperial influence. As a former fighter who just wanted some peace and quiet, sometimes you had to choose someplace a bit loud. 

A young couple burst through the door in a fit of laughter and you looked up to see the two getting rather handsy with each other. It was sweet, and nothing inappropriate enough to deem needing to be broken up. You had paintings more explicit hanging on the walls.

You smiled to yourself at the looks of the other patrons, a mix of disgust, annoyance, and sadness. But there were a few others looking at them with the appreciation of innocent kids in love. Either way, the couple seemed to be there for the art. One pointed at an illustration and the other got incredibly excited, going off chattering about it. The pointer just gazed at the speaker with love in their eyes. No one could be mad at something like that.

-o-o-o-

You lay in one of the small beds, the sheets underneath you disgustingly scratchy and sweaty. You had spent almost a year now on the Razor Crest, drifting through space, and laundry for the sheets was not really a priority for water usage.

You could pretty easily forgive the sheets though, as you were pressed up next to Din, completely naked, sweaty and still slightly shaking in the haze of afterglow. The sex was unforgettable. It was so warm in the ship all the blankets were pooled at the bottom of the mattress. Din’s feet were playing with the fabric lazily. 

His condition for this arrangement, starting all those weeks ago, was that you had to be blindfolded, which you couldn’t really complain about. It would have been amazing to take away all restraints and look at Din in the face, but you knew that would never happen, so you figured you’d take what you could get. And the one night turned into two, which turned into so many nights and days you couldn’t even count. 

Din’s breath was hot on your neck. His arm curled around your waist, and your back was pressed against his chest. It was something out of a dream. You never once thought you would feel safe and at home enough with anyone to be this vulnerable, but here you were. Din was wrapped around you and you could still feel the ache of him between your legs. 

You realized he hadn’t said anything in a while. Ever since you started sleeping together, Din liked to talk. He knew how much you liked hearing his voice without the helmet on. It was a sexy voice, or maybe you just thought anything about him without the armor was sexy because it was so forbidden. 

You wriggled a bit and flipped over to face him. Your legs intertwined between his, and you were practically face to face. If you weren’t wearing the strip of black fabric wrapped around your head, his eyes would be right there, staring back at you. 

You were a bit jealous of Din. He got to look at you. All of you. 

You every day, working around the ship, picking up the Child, singing to yourself or reading on your bed. And these past few weeks, all of you, spread out on his bed, wrapped around him, leaning into him. 

All you got were little glimpses of skin when he was careless with his armor or back before the Unknown Regions, when you were both getting injured almost daily, having to patch each other up.

You leaned your forehead against his. 

“Din,” you whispered. It still felt like an incredible privilege to get to use that name.

You hand reached up to touch his cheek. He leaned into your touch, and you caressed his face. Your hands felt the curve of his jawbone, the rough brush of a mustache, his soft lips. You trailed over his nose and his brow bones. If you couldn’t see him, you were going to memorize every line and curve of his face. You didn’t know the colors, but you had a pretty good idea of what he looked like. 

Your hands joined forces as they moved down his body, first across his neck, then his chest, and his waist, then, teasingly, right back up to his face again. You had him moving slowly in tandem with you.

You rolled your hips into him softly. There was no intention of a round two, you were both too exhausted for that, just the need for him to be closer. To feel him. 

“Din, talk to me,” you said, in between soft kisses to his face, “you’re being quiet.”

His hands shot down to your hips, pushing you back. He rolled off the bed. You weren’t sure what to do. You weren’t sure what you did. 

There was a thump on the ground that sounded a lot like his shoes. Din was putting his clothes on. You could hear the rustling. Then the hiss the helmet made when he put it on his head. The door opened, but the closing sound never happened. The methodical sound of feet and hands on the ladder came next. He had gone up to the cockpit, leaving you on the bed. 

You rolled onto your back, unsure of what to do next. 

Usually, Din would tell you when it was good to look. Usually, he would reach around your head with his gloved hands, gently pushing back your hair. Usually, he would carefully untie the fabric, making sure none of your hair got caught. Usually, you would open your eyes to see him with the helmet, and you could always imagine the smile that lay underneath.

You knew he was gone. He had just up and left you in bed. You reached up to remove the blindfold. You blinked a few times to adjust to the light. The cold air drifting around the room reminded you that Din hadn’t even thought to close the door behind him. You looked around for your clothes, finally seeing where he had likely threw them in the heat of things. Slowly, you got dressed. 

The fabric of the blindfold was draped over your hands, and you folded it over itself a few times before setting it down in the center of the bed.

* * *

Din wasn’t used to planets with this many paved roads. The years on Nevarro and running around the Outer Rim had gotten him used to dirt alleyways and uneven ground. He found himself enjoying the luxury of not having to worry he would twist an ankle. It was helping distract him.

Even outside the bar, it still felt like there were too many people. He was sweating, his legs were shaking, and he was feeling a bit dizzy. After about 5 minutes of walking he wasn’t sure if it was the remnants of the panic attack that were causing the feelings, or the nerves of where he was going. 

A friend had told him where he would need to go, right down to the turns to make on every street. He never imagined that when he was this close he would be regretting even coming. 

Din shook his head. He took a deep breath in, he only hoped he had the right place.

-x-x-x-

It had been 10 long weeks. Din could count the number of words she had said on his two hands. 

Every day he would wake up, and she would be either holed up in her bed, reading or writing, or up in the cockpit, sitting in the pilot’s seat, staring into the galaxy. As soon as she realized he was there, she’d get up, and leave the room. Probably go to the bathroom. She’d spend an hour playing with the Child. Then go through the whole ship, checking for damage. Not that they’d ever sustain anything. They never encountered anyone. Every time they found a planet within the habitable zone, scanners would show it as too dangerous for even the Child to survive. 

After scanning the ship, she’d go back to the kid. Then make food. If Din was lucky she’d leave a plate for him. The two times they found a planet to stop, refuel, and stock up, everything was done in silence. Sometimes she’d disappear for an hour, probably just to run and stretch her legs.

He’d often catch her staring at a spot on the wall, tapping her fingers or bouncing her leg. She’d sit like that for impossibly long periods of time. He knew the isolation was getting to her.

Every so often, she’d walk into his room, or up to the cockpit where he was flying, and look like she was about to say something, but stayed silent. 

The first week of this, Din blamed himself: if only he hadn’t allowed them to get so close, then he wouldn’t have had to call it off. But in the end, he figured this was inevitable. 

Calling their arrangement off was truly for the best. The guilt had increased to an unhealthy level, and Din knew it would eventually kill him. 

In just a few weeks, he had broken the Creed so many times. Once or twice, sometimes even three times a day. He swore, years ago, to never take off the helmet in the presence of a living being. Even if she was blindfolded, it didn’t really matter. 

Din wrote his own behavior off as just a reaction to the months of loneliness, the lack of other people. He never really considered she would be struggling with the same thing.

The sound of her steps alerted Din to the presence of someone else in his quarters. She stood in the doorway, leaning as if to take another step, but unsure if she could. The Child had followed her down, and was standing at her feet, looking up at her face. 

“Refueling. 20 minutes,” she said. Her voice was quiet but hoarse. He supposed that after so much lack of use, that was to be expected. She disappeared back up to the cockpit. 

Din got up to see this planet she spoke of. Standing upstairs, the whole universe taking up most of his vision, Din felt it was almost normal. The three of them were there, watching their destination come closer, the Child standing on the dashboard, Din standing silently, and she was sitting, flying the ship with a gentleness rarely experienced.

Down on the surface, the planet was stuck in time. It appeared to be a Galactic Republic station, stuck almost 50 years in the past. Aside from the feeling they were walking around a scene from a documentary, it was practically the same as an Inner Rim planet. 

Din wandered around with the Child as she went off to restock on food. He visited shop after shop, asking around if anyone had seen a species like the kid. No luck.

After a few hours, Din walked into a cantina, hoping to find some fresh food for the kid, but upon realizing she was already there, turned around to leave. There was no use trying to talk to someone who had chosen to isolate herself from him for almost 3 months. Before he walked out the door, he couldn’t help but notice the way she was talking, happily and smoothly, smiling at some girl she was sitting next to. She looked almost completely normal again. Din smiled to himself. That was good. 

Their other refueling stops had allowed them to stretch their legs, and maybe see about 10 other sentient creatures. They hadn’t gotten proper socialization in over 6 months. 

Din returned to the Razor Crest, letting the kid play around in the dirt with some scrap metal lying around at the docking station. He sat on the edge of the open cargo door.

She showed up after a while, boxes in tow, and began loading them back onto the ship. No words were spoken. Din stood up to help, but she just brushed by him. 

“Hey,” Din said, desperate for answers as this point, “what’s wrong?”

She froze. She slowly set down the boxes where she was, standing on the deck of the Razor Crest, looking down at Din.

“What.” she said, it wasn’t a question. It was empty.

“What’s wrong with you?” Din shook his head, “You were all excited and normal in the cantina back there. And here, with me, you’re silent.”

It was like a fire had been started, and Din could see it in her eyes.

“Why did you walk away?” she said. It was calm. Too calm, almost deadly.

“What?” it seemed like Din was always the one confused.

“Why did you walk away? We were fine, happy even, and you stood up in the middle of it, and left,” her voice steadily rose as she spoke, by the end she was yelling.

_ So it was about me _ , Din realized. “Did you really think we could keep doing that? Being like that?”

“Did I think we could keep doing that? Of course I did! I… I thought we had something, and you just pushed me away!” She had walked down the cargo door, and was now standing in front of Din.

“I had to push you away!” Din yelled, “I couldn’t keep doing that, what we did, I can’t do. I’m not allowed to!”

“You’re not allowed to? What kind of utter bullshit is that?” She spat at him, “We were alone in the fucking galaxy, on your fucking tiny ship, with nothing to do, and you weren’t  _ allowed _ to? Says who?”

“Says the Creed,” Din was glad he wore a helmet at times like this, so people couldn’t see the tears threatening to spill out. He knew he was losing her, but he wasn’t going to just let her go so easily. 

“Your damn Creed isn’t an excuse to just fucking disappear without any explanation, and if it is, than it’s shit... You’re shit,” she was only getting started, Din could feel that. But she insulted the Creed, and she couldn’t get away with that.

“The Creed isn’t just what I follow. It’s who I am. And if you can’t deal with that, then you shouldn’t have even gotten involved with me in the first place,” he didn’t realize what he had said until it was out of his mouth. 

“Well maybe I regret getting involved with you,” her words were like alcohol on an open wound, “I regret every single touch, moment, and word. I lie awake at night wishing I could scrub my body clean from the memory of you.”

“Oh, you’re telling me,” Din was incredulous, and increasingly mad, “I want nothing  _ more _ than for that time together to have  _ never _ happened. To have never met you. To have never had to help you deal with the fact you can’t even handle a few months alone in space. I wish I didn’t have to help you by doing things I never wanted to do. By doing you.” 

At that, she took a step back. Something switched off and her body seemed to deflate.

“So that’s why,” she whispered under her breath, just barely loud enough for Din to hear, and his heart broke.

He hadn’t meant it. Din wanted to take it back, to pull her into his arms and never let go, but he knew he had just lost the right to ever touch her again. 

“I can’t do this anymore, Mando,” she said, and his breath hitched at the sound of that name. It was only used by strangers and acquaintances who didn’t realize there was a person underneath the beskar. 

“I can’t do this,” she continued, “not when it’s killing me.”

She turned around and walked with as much strength as she could, walked straight back into town, leaving Din standing, back against his ship, staring until she had faded from his view, only sliding down to sit when he realized he’d never see the more important person in his life again. 

* * *

10 minutes until closing. You were sitting at your desk, across the room from the front door, tapping your fingers rhythmically on the table. You wanted to go home. It had been a long day. But, true to the sign on the door, you would be open for another 10 minutes. Minutes that seemed to be passing as slowly as imaginable. 

People seemed to keep coming in and no one was leaving. It was your worst nightmare. The bell rang. Some woman walked in. It rang again. Three students entered as a guy left. It rang again. Some sort of wookie-like creature walked in. You almost groaned out loud. Standing up, you turned around to check the back room. The droids in the gallery would be fine for a few seconds.

The back room was clean. The droids were talking to one another, and had no more work to do. You could only spend so much time in the back room.

Back out in the main space, you sat down, checking the time. 8 minutes and 30 seconds. This was actually the worst. You stared at the datapad you used to get customer information. After about two minutes of staring intently at the ‘Given Name’ box, and the doorbell ringing about 4 more times, hopefully for some customers to leave, you felt a presence in front of the desk.

You looked up. It was some guy, tall, sort of bulky, but strong looking. His hair was a mess, and his facial hair was worse, the only well-groomed thing was the mustache. He wasn’t familiar, definitely not a regular, probably not even from the planet. You couldn’t even begin to describe the look on his face. It was one you had never seen on someone in an art gallery who wasn’t looking at a piece. It was rich with emotion, pain probably, and he looked incredibly distraught. 

Why would a guy, looking like that, be entering your shop and coming straight to the desk? 

“Can I help you?” you asked, looking into his face. 

-o-o-o-

You spent a solid 3 hours crying in an alleyway after storming off. You had watched the Razor Crest take off in the distance after the first hour, and watching everything you knew and loved soar into the sky and out of the atmosphere only brought on more tears. 

The sun had set and the light was growing dim when you finally found yourself shakily standing up to find someplace to sleep. The cantina you were at that morning had a few rooms, and you spent half of all the money you had on you for food and a bed for the night. 

The room was huge, as was the bed. After over a year of knowing nothing but narrow, hard bunks, it should have been an undeserved luxury, but as you lay in the center of the mattress, you knew you would give anything for the small room you called home.

Your heart ached for Din, and the Kid. You were already regretting leaving, but the regret tears quickly turned back into those of hurt when you replayed Din’s last words in your mind. 

Had you really made him feel like you had forced him to have sex with you? Was your relationship founded upon any actual emotions on his part? Clearly everything you thought was true was a lie. All those nights, him holding you so tenderly in his arms was nothing more than him feeling like he owed you a service. 

The pit growing in your stomach hardened. You felt sick. You felt dirty. You had hurt Din in ways you didn’t even realize, and when it all was too much for him, he left you in your solitude for weeks. Looking back, you supposed you deserved it for what you had done to him.

You had loved him. You knew that. The fact you were realizing this in the midst of what you could only describe as a breakup only caused you to shake with the sobs that overcame you once again.

You don’t know when you fell asleep, but at some point the tears turned to heavy breathing as your eyelids grew heavy and you slipped away into the night.

You didn’t sleep well, but the rest was needed, and in the morning you took a long shower, wiping yourself clean of the dried up salty feeling that covered your face and neck from the tears. As you ran a cloth over your body, you remembered your words from the day before.  _ I lie awake at night wishing I could scrub my body clean from the memory of you.  _

If only you could snatch those words from the air where you spoke them. Maybe if you took them back, Din wouldn’t have said what he had. You could have just gotten back on the ship in silence. It would have killed you to keep going, but it couldn’t have been worse than this. It couldn’t have been worse than knowing how Din really felt. 

You trudged down to return your key and grab something to eat. Sitting at the bar, you decided that, at least for the day, you would forget about Din. The day was about figuring out how to get back to civilization. However you could, you would return to the half of the galaxy you knew. Mourning and moping could wait.

With some bounce to your step, you headed right to the port, straight into the offices of the stationmaster. 

“What can I do for you?” an ambiguous voice said as soon as you entered. You looked around to see where it was coming from. A head popped up from under the desk, followed by the rest of the body, “Sorry, fixing something.”

You smiled. The stationmaster looked incredibly friendly, and you figured an appeal to her sense of humanity would probably work best.

“I um, I was travelling with a guy,” you started, putting on a slightly sad face, making sure your words dripped with loss and longing, “and he abandoned me here. I, uh, I need to get back home. I can do anything. I’m—I’m good at fighting, and I can pilot a ship, and fix things, whatever. I don’t have much money, but I can work. I just want to go home.”

The woman frowned, extending an arm out to your shoulder, “Darling, I’m so sorry. That’s an incredibly rough thing for a lady like you to go through. I’ve got some captains docked here that might need some help. But may I ask, where is home for you?”

You paused. Home. Home was the Razor Crest. Home was travelling. You hadn’t been back to where you were born for over 15 years. You didn’t know if you had family left, but you figured it was better than nothing. Higher education there was good, you could move somewhere else if things didn’t work out, or if you found a job elsewhere. 

You nodded at the woman, “Naboo. My home is Naboo.”

* * *

From the moment he reached the door, the only thought in Din’s brain was to turn around, to go back. He had hurt her, he knew that. It was his fault she left. He drove her away. The guilt of that was worse than anything else he had suffered. 

Opening the door, he briefly hoped that it wouldn’t be her, that he was on the wrong planet, and had gotten some bad info. It wouldn’t be the first time it happened. 

But then he looked into the shop and she was right there, staring down at the desk. She looked exactly like she did when she walked away, 3 years ago. 

He took a deep breath, and walked up to her. Sensing his presence, she looked up, giving him a quick once over. No recognition lit up in her eyes, and Din didn’t even realize that was what he had expected until it didn’t happen. She asked him if he needed any help.

“To think you’d recognize me,” he mumbled under his breath. This was definitely a mistake. He’d kept her in the dark for so long, she didn’t even know what he looked like.

-x-x-x-

It had been 13 months before Din found the rest of the galaxy. 13 months without her. After the first three, the navigation system in the Razor Crest broke, and Din had no idea how to fix it. She probably would have known how. 

A month of completely blind wandering led him to a planet where he found a small village of the little green creatures that the Kid belonged to. Seemed like they had been missing the little thing. 

He knew he should have been happy. Happy that he finally found the planet. Happy for the Kid. Happy for its family. But lifting off from there, after hugging both the Child and its relatives farewell, he felt empty. He had no idea where in the galaxy he was, if he was still even in the galaxy, and without current coordinates he couldn’t plot a route home. And he was completely alone. 

Now, after 9 months with no human contact, Din could officially say he had lost it. Wandering the Razor Crest, no armor on, for hours, course set to keep going in one direction until a barrier appeared on the sensors. 

He would pace for hours, talking to himself. Replaying the conversations he had with her in his head. Sometimes, he would look up at the door to what used to be her room, and he would think he saw a glimpse of the yellow sleeves of her favorite shirt, and he would dash into her space, apologizing, before collapsing on the floor upon realizing she was gone. Din lost count of the number of hours he wasted crying next to her bed. 

Sometimes the ship would stop, having detected an asteroid belt or an uninhabited planet. Sometimes Din would land the ship, and upon confirmation of breathable air, he would walk out and wander the barren surface.

He would wonder why no one had explored this part of space. Why no one came out here to terraform. It couldn’t be that hard, could it? So many of the planets were already halfway there. 

A couple times he was lucky to find some edible plants. But now Din was running out of food. He hadn’t planned on so much time without contact, without the nav system, without people. Rationing began after two months, back when he thought he’d find the civilization he knew within another month or so. He was so wrong.

He was sitting in the corner of the ship, almost directly underneath the ladder to the cockpit, where he had been for the past 2 hours. He was scratching patterns into the walls, mumbling to himself. There was not much left within him that could be called human. That had been left behind a long while back. 

The ship lurched to a halt, and Din startled out of his semi-unconscious state, jumping to his feet. Scrambling, he climbed the ladder, revealing what had stopped the Razor Crest. It was right in the center of view, through the windows of the cockpit. 

A planet.

And not just any planet. This was one he knew. One that lay on the Outer Rim, considered the Last Stop Until Nowhere. He cranked the speed up, and set course to land at the largest city. 

As soon as the cargo bay door swung open, Din was running out, wearing nothing but a pair of black pants and a grey shirt.

First stop was a cantina. He practically flew in, startling the bartender and the clientele, but when they realized it was just another guy, the stares turned back towards drinks and food and conversational partners. 

Din asked for a drink, any drink, and a lot of food, which he wolfed down, much to the horrified look of the staff. 

Two drinks in, Din was finally smiling, happy to be looking at the faces of real, live, sentient beings.

Three drinks in, Din was talking loudly with some guy who had lots of good stories of some dramatic happenings from the marketplace that morning.

Four drinks in, Din was sidling up to a nice looking girl. 

Five drinks in, Din had his arm around her, whispering into her ear.

Six drinks in, the two were stumbling out of the establishment, the girl giggling, hands all over him. 

He hardly remembered that first night back, just an orgasmic haze full of hot touches and passionate kisses. The next morning he was back in the cantina until he got kicked out, and moved to the next. 

A week passed in a blur of alcohol, sex, and food.

Until one day he woke up, completely sober, completely naked, in a bed full of prostitutes he didn’t remember meeting, and remembered everything. 

He slipped out as quickly as possible, leaving his entire bag of credits for the women. Upon return to the ship, he closed the door and let go of the body-wracking sobs he was holding in. 

She was gone, he was alone. She was gone, and he had just had sex with an unidentifiable number of people, and none of them smiled at him like she did. How could he have forgotten that smile? 

He spotted the pile of his armor, a pile tossed aside months ago, hardly touched. The mask sitting on top, staring at him with it’s empty, black, linear excuse for eyes. The feeling in Dins chest felt like it was pounding at his ribcage, wanting out before it exploded. 

He stood up and walked to the heap of beskar. He couldn’t destroy it. Beskar couldn’t be destroyed by any normal means, so he powered up the ship and took off. 

The Razor Crest groaned. He knew it was on its last legs and if it didn’t get repairs soon, it would be gone from his life too, just like everything else. 

Up in high orbit, Din jumped back down to the cargo bay. Ships had mostly lost the need for airlocks, but he did have one for disposal purposes. 

In his rage, he put his armor into the small space, pushing it as hard as possible to get it to all fit in, and closed the interior door. His finger hovered above the green button for a fraction of a second before pushing it as hard as he could. There was little sound beyond the creak of the outer door opening and closing.

Din wanted to yell. He wanted to scream in anger at everything that had led him here. All he could do was fall to the ground and sit in silence for a while. 

When he stood up, he knew he had just opened a door that closed him off from everything he knew.

* * *

“Excuse me, sir, but we’re closing,” you said, as the guy just blinked back at you and mumbled something. You were planning on closing right on time, but this guy sort of freaked you out, the way he stared at you. You were closing a few minutes early if it meant he would leave and you could go home. 

“Sorry,” he said, with a voice that tugged at something deep in your memory, something you couldn’t place, “I shouldn’t have come.”

“Were you looking for anything?” This was definitely the weirdest interaction of the day. While the guy wasn’t exactly unusual, he just didn’t make any sense. He wasn’t here for the art, it seemed.

A slight breeze brushed against your back as one of the droids slid behind you, the air cold on your bare skin. Your top was hardly covering your stomach and back, which while leaving you exposed, did help you fit in a bit more with the locals. Unfortunately, you weren’t outside where it was warm, and you couldn’t help the jerky shiver that overcame you. 

“I’m sorry,” the man said, frowning. His eyes had trailed down your body, and were now very obviously lingering at your midriff, probably noticing the scars from all your fights and blaster wounds. You felt exposed. His gaze wasn’t violating, but it felt like it  _ should _ have been.

“What?” you asked. Sorry was a weird way to start a conversation with a stranger. Unless he was apologizing for coming in a few moments before closing. 

“For coming here,” he said, sounding incredibly hopeless. He made to turn around, but you felt the need to reach out.

“Wait, who are you?” you asked. As weird as the guy was, you wanted to know why he had shown up. What he needed. 

He took a deep breath before speaking again, “I found the kid’s home planet.”

_ Holy shit _ .

Your eyes widened. It couldn’t be. Could it?

“Din?” you asked, your voice coming out as barely more than a whisper.

He nodded. 

At that confirmation, you were overcome with the anger you felt last time you looked at him in the eyes. Before you knew it, you were stood up, leaning over the desk. All you could think of was him telling you how he didn’t want to have been in the relationship you had. You raised your hand, and swiped it across his face. Hard. 

He didn’t even try to stop you. Even with the obvious wind up. And that’s what broke your heart. You ran around the desk separating the two of you, so you were standing right in front of him. 

There was still pain in his eyes, but there was a whole lot of innocence. You had never looked at his face, but it felt a lot like you had seen it, hundreds of times before. You raised your hand to meet his cheek, where the red from the slap was blossoming. 

Holding his cheek, you stared into him, and all he did was stare back, too afraid to say something. Too afraid of what you might say.

His face felt the same as you remembered. His eyes were darker than you expected, and his nose wider than it felt, but it wasn’t as shocking as it should have been. It took those few moments standing there to really understand: the man standing in front of you really was the man you walked away from. 

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug, and only then, when your face was hidden from his, did you let out a few tears. You buried your face into his shoulder. He still smelled the same, the mix of sweat and a faint bit of alcohol and spices from a distant planet. He was the same man you left, and you felt some violent crying threatening to erupt if you didn’t say anything.

“I missed you,” you mumbled into his shirt. 

“I missed you too,” he whispered back.

You pulled back, blinking a few times to clear your eyes, “Where the hell have you been? 3 years is a long time.”

He looked down at the floor, then back up at you.

“Enough for you to start a business.” He said, with a weak smile.

You scoffed, “Enough for you to break your Creed, what happened?”

He opened his mouth to say something, but you interrupted, “Wait, stay right there. Let me just close up the shop.”

You paused a moment, holding his shoulders down, as if to try to glue him to the spot. Then you walked around the shop, making sure no stragglers were left wandering the room. The droids did a good job of kicking everyone out, but you could never be sure. You walked over to the door, pulling a key out from your pocket to lock it, and flipped the sign to show ‘closed.’ 

You rushed back to Din, who was still staring right where you left him, looking lost and small. You took pity on the guy. No matter what he had done, he was here, in your shop, looking absolutely ragged, and you couldn’t help feeling like you were looking at him naked, his face felt like forbidden material. You reached out to his hand, holding it in your own.

“Come on, let’s sit down, I want to hear all about it,” you said, leading Din to the backroom. All your droids were gone already, as they usually were just after closing, so you were left finally alone. You pulled out a couple chairs from the edge of the room, dragging them to a table. He sat down slowly, and you noticed the slight shine in the corners of his eyes that only meant tears. 

“So, what happened to you, Din?” you asked.

“Well, after you left…” and Din started talking. He told his story, and you sat across from him, watching the pain and longing. You found yourself crying with him, and you reached out and set a hand on his thigh, soft and comforting. He was beautiful, you noticed, haunted and cautious with every action, but when you looked past the beaten down outer shell, Din was nothing but gentle and caring. 

Your quick check of the time revealed you had been talking for over an hour. You had shared your story, or as much of it as you wanted to share, and you were realizing the conversation was ending, and you didn’t know what was next.

You hoped, for everything it was worth, that he would stay, but you didn’t know why he had even come, or what he might ask of you. You had set up a life here, one you never expected, but that you loved. It would break you if he asked you to come with him again. And the worst part was that you knew you would drop everything to fly away with him in a heartbeat. 

You had fallen silent, and Din had seemed to notice it.

“Hey,” he whispered, “I know you probably h—I messed up. I didn’t mean a thing I said to you.”

You felt your heart stop. All the anxiety, the doubts, the concerns you have about your past relationship—how much you had given to Din, how much you felt you had stolen from him—they were all gone. Somewhere in the past hour, you had begun to understand that that was true, but his words confirmed it. 

“I’m sorry. I was mad, and scared,” Din started again. This was a rare display of pure personal openness from him, and you were frozen, staring at him, clinging to his every word. “I left the bed that day because I knew I had broken the Creed, and my guilt had overcome me. I know I should have told you, but I was scared as hell.”

“Scared of what?” you breathed.

“Scared of how I felt. About you,” he glanced down, “I felt like if I told you why I’d left, I’d have to share everything else too, just to explain it. And if you felt the same way, what that would mean… we’d never have gotten to be with each other the same way again.”

He stared at you, and looking into his eyes you knew what he meant. What he had just said, just not with the same words.  _ I love you _ .

You reached out to hold his cheeks again, this time your thumb grazing across his facial hair, and traced over his lips. You felt his hot breath, slowly passing over your fingers. 

You wrapped your other arm around his waist, and with a surge of confidence, you pulled yourself into his lap, straddling him in the chair. Your chests were touching and you leaned your head in. He matched your motion, and your lips met. 

You shuddered as he pulled you in, his tongue teasing you open. He held you around the waist with one arm, the other tangling in your hair, his hand warm against your head. You melted into him, sinking into the ease of it. His lips were warm but chapped, the roughness matching the mustache you felt on your upper lip. 

It was like finally drinking water in the desert where you met the second time, soothing and easy and perfect. His hand on the small of your back slipped down lower, pulling you closer and you moaned into his lips. It was everything you never let yourself dream of. 

You pulled away, slowly, staring into the warmth of his eye, both of you wanting so much more. Your breath was ragged and uneven when you opened your mouth.

“I would have done anything for you, Din,” you said, “I just wanted a life with you.”

_ I love you too. _


End file.
